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gaxna novella (currently untitled!)
1
I wake with my blood pounding and my face stuck to something rough. Sit up and suck in a breath—the roof. I’m on the roof, and the rosy light on pale brick and the shouts of vendors in the street below tell me it’s morning.
Instinct takes over, trained into me from years living under the witches. I roll to my feet, looking for enemies, scanning for escape routes, patting my body for tools. They are all there: thief’s rope, poisoned bracelet, pair of knives, extra wig, pouch of herbs.
I see no enemies, and after a moment I recognize the place. Orange-glazed ceramic roof tiles, butting up to a wall with bricked-in windows, view of the bay off the far edge—this is my current hideout. Or the roof of it, anyway.
What in scabs am I doing sleeping on the roof?
I take a ragged breath, heart still pounding, trying to clear my thoughts. I should be downstairs, sleeping for another four hours. It’s morning. I hate morning. Nightmares again? Maybe. But it’s been months, and they never made me sleepwalk up to the roof.
I run a hand through the stubble on my scalp, absently adjusting the straps over my chest. “I’m okay,” I whisper, like a torch against the icy fear climbing inside. “My heart is beating, my lungs are working, my mind is here and now. I am okay.”
That’s the mantra they taught me, at the farm, after I escaped the witches. The mantra that’s kept me sane the last year and a half.
The mantra that made me strong enough to come back here.
I take another breath, say the mantra again, focus on the here and now. I am not in the witches’ guild. They haven’t contacted me in months. Haven’t tried to possess me since I escaped. This could have been something else.
Still, the icy hand that tried to seize my heart finds a home in my belly, coiling there, whispering No, there’s nothing else it could be. You’re not safe. You’ve never been safe. You need to run.
That makes me think of Oena, the rail-thin girl I snuck out of the guildhouse three nights back, sleeping in the hideout downstairs. The icy hand crawls up my spine—did they come and take her? Is that what this is about?
But when I climb down I find her safe and unhurt, albeit awake in the muggy pre-dawn, eyes wide and watching.
“It’s just me,” I say, holding up a hand as I climb in. “Just Gaxna. You’re safe.”
Funny how I can pull myself together when it’s for someone else.
“Where did you go?” Her voice is calm, almost deadpan, but that’s one of the ways girls react to the witches’ training. Estrija was like that, for a while. Until she bought in.
“I—don’t know,” I tell her. I should hide it, but this is one of the rules I made with myself, when I started rescuing the girls that wanted to get out—I wouldn’t lie to them. They’ve been lied to enough already, are usually totally confused by all the rot the witches tell them. Time on the farm is what they need, but I can at least stop the lies.
That, and I need the honesty just as much as they do. I sit down on one of the crates scattered across the cramped room. This is a lonely life, and I wouldn’t make it if I didn’t have someone to talk to. Deep down I know I’m just pretending they’re Estrija. Estrija with her soft voice and silky hair and the way she would trail her fingers down my back, and the words she would whisper in my ear. She is the only one I’ve ever known who could calm me down.
Until she chose the witches over me, anyway.
I pull out a clove twist and light it off the candle, leaves crackling as I pull smoke. Now I just have my runaways. Not the same, but there’s an honesty to it. Like two travelers sharing an inn. No obligations, no consequences, no reason not to be totally honest.
“It was the guild,” she says quietly, certainty in her voice.
“We don’t know that,” I say, as much to my own fear as her.
“Do you have any abrasions?”
I look at my hands, see the patches of raw flesh along the palms. I think I saw this when I first woke up, and just made myself ignore it. I’m good at that. But these are classic possession scrapes—not even the senior witches have perfect control over a body. You get cuts and bruises.
“I do.”
She just nods, one survivor to another. She probably still has them on her own palms. “Do you remember anything?”
I try, but not very hard. Memories are one of the places I can’t fight fear, one of the things the farm couldn’t help with. The mistress said they would get weaker, with time. That what I did now would replace what happened back then. I’m still working on that. Still waiting for Estrija and the witches to go away.
“Flashes,” I say, and pull on the twist again, the thing burnt nearly to its stump. “A mansion, in Old Serei. A guard, fighting me. And—” I jerk my thoughts back to the here and now. Pull on the clove twist.
“You were a bloodseeker, right?” Oena asks in that too-calm voice.
“Training for it. I never actually went out on a mission. Or, not on my own.”
“They possessed you.” It’s not a question. Oena knows. I haven’t asked her what happened to her in the guild, but I’m sure she was possessed too. Everyone is--it’s part of learning to trust, they told us. Part of accepting your place in the sisterhood.
Part of getting your hands so bloody you can’t leave, they mean.
“A few times,” I say. These memories, at least, I’ve been over so many times that they don’t hurt the same way. “Errands, mostly. Then the last time they made me meet a monk. Pretend I was someone else. Keep him distracted while their archer lined up a shot.”
Oena’s face is blank. She is old before her time, like all the girls I rescue. “Did he die?”
“No,” I say, voice getting thick despite myself. I pull hard at the twist, embers glowing in the half light. “The monk realized what they were doing. Dodged. It punctured his lung, maybe a pulmonary artery. They made me chase him. Track him to a fountain and push him under.”
A darkness moves across her face, her cheekbones casting shadows in the brightening light. “You killed him.”
I laugh out smoke. “You get it, at least. Estri—the others, they said it wasn’t me. That I was just a tool. That I needed to trust in the guild’s wisdom. That it would be okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Oena says quietly. “It’s never okay.”
The hopelessness in her voice is like a lifeline, pulling me back in. I know that’s twisted, but maybe that’s why I stay here, rescuing runaways. To pull myself together. To give me purpose. New memories, to bury the old.
I take her hand. “I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong, but you’re free now. And whatever happened back there, you can make a new life. I did. They don’t control who you are. That’s your choice.”
She just nods, but I can tell my words don’t do much. That’s okay. That’s the farm’s job. I just have to get her there.
“So what are you gonna do now?” she asks, eyes still on the floor.
“Find who did it,” I say simply. It all seems so clear now, when I have to tell someone else. “And make sure they never do it again.”
Oena sucks in a breath. “Even if it’s one of the sisters? They have your blood. They’ll kill you!”
“Better that than this,” I growl, feeling the determination rise in me as I do. I’m not living like this. I decided that seventeen months ago, when I first escaped the guildhouse, and I guess I always knew they wouldn’t just let me go. So yeah, going after them might get me killed.
But better that than live in fear.
Instinct takes over, trained into me from years living under the witches. I roll to my feet, looking for enemies, scanning for escape routes, patting my body for tools. They are all there: thief’s rope, poisoned bracelet, pair of knives, extra wig, pouch of herbs.
I see no enemies, and after a moment I recognize the place. Orange-glazed ceramic roof tiles, butting up to a wall with bricked-in windows, view of the bay off the far edge—this is my current hideout. Or the roof of it, anyway.
What in scabs am I doing sleeping on the roof?
I take a ragged breath, heart still pounding, trying to clear my thoughts. I should be downstairs, sleeping for another four hours. It’s morning. I hate morning. Nightmares again? Maybe. But it’s been months, and they never made me sleepwalk up to the roof.
I run a hand through the stubble on my scalp, absently adjusting the straps over my chest. “I’m okay,” I whisper, like a torch against the icy fear climbing inside. “My heart is beating, my lungs are working, my mind is here and now. I am okay.”
That’s the mantra they taught me, at the farm, after I escaped the witches. The mantra that’s kept me sane the last year and a half.
The mantra that made me strong enough to come back here.
I take another breath, say the mantra again, focus on the here and now. I am not in the witches’ guild. They haven’t contacted me in months. Haven’t tried to possess me since I escaped. This could have been something else.
Still, the icy hand that tried to seize my heart finds a home in my belly, coiling there, whispering No, there’s nothing else it could be. You’re not safe. You’ve never been safe. You need to run.
That makes me think of Oena, the rail-thin girl I snuck out of the guildhouse three nights back, sleeping in the hideout downstairs. The icy hand crawls up my spine—did they come and take her? Is that what this is about?
But when I climb down I find her safe and unhurt, albeit awake in the muggy pre-dawn, eyes wide and watching.
“It’s just me,” I say, holding up a hand as I climb in. “Just Gaxna. You’re safe.”
Funny how I can pull myself together when it’s for someone else.
“Where did you go?” Her voice is calm, almost deadpan, but that’s one of the ways girls react to the witches’ training. Estrija was like that, for a while. Until she bought in.
“I—don’t know,” I tell her. I should hide it, but this is one of the rules I made with myself, when I started rescuing the girls that wanted to get out—I wouldn’t lie to them. They’ve been lied to enough already, are usually totally confused by all the rot the witches tell them. Time on the farm is what they need, but I can at least stop the lies.
That, and I need the honesty just as much as they do. I sit down on one of the crates scattered across the cramped room. This is a lonely life, and I wouldn’t make it if I didn’t have someone to talk to. Deep down I know I’m just pretending they’re Estrija. Estrija with her soft voice and silky hair and the way she would trail her fingers down my back, and the words she would whisper in my ear. She is the only one I’ve ever known who could calm me down.
Until she chose the witches over me, anyway.
I pull out a clove twist and light it off the candle, leaves crackling as I pull smoke. Now I just have my runaways. Not the same, but there’s an honesty to it. Like two travelers sharing an inn. No obligations, no consequences, no reason not to be totally honest.
“It was the guild,” she says quietly, certainty in her voice.
“We don’t know that,” I say, as much to my own fear as her.
“Do you have any abrasions?”
I look at my hands, see the patches of raw flesh along the palms. I think I saw this when I first woke up, and just made myself ignore it. I’m good at that. But these are classic possession scrapes—not even the senior witches have perfect control over a body. You get cuts and bruises.
“I do.”
She just nods, one survivor to another. She probably still has them on her own palms. “Do you remember anything?”
I try, but not very hard. Memories are one of the places I can’t fight fear, one of the things the farm couldn’t help with. The mistress said they would get weaker, with time. That what I did now would replace what happened back then. I’m still working on that. Still waiting for Estrija and the witches to go away.
“Flashes,” I say, and pull on the twist again, the thing burnt nearly to its stump. “A mansion, in Old Serei. A guard, fighting me. And—” I jerk my thoughts back to the here and now. Pull on the clove twist.
“You were a bloodseeker, right?” Oena asks in that too-calm voice.
“Training for it. I never actually went out on a mission. Or, not on my own.”
“They possessed you.” It’s not a question. Oena knows. I haven’t asked her what happened to her in the guild, but I’m sure she was possessed too. Everyone is--it’s part of learning to trust, they told us. Part of accepting your place in the sisterhood.
Part of getting your hands so bloody you can’t leave, they mean.
“A few times,” I say. These memories, at least, I’ve been over so many times that they don’t hurt the same way. “Errands, mostly. Then the last time they made me meet a monk. Pretend I was someone else. Keep him distracted while their archer lined up a shot.”
Oena’s face is blank. She is old before her time, like all the girls I rescue. “Did he die?”
“No,” I say, voice getting thick despite myself. I pull hard at the twist, embers glowing in the half light. “The monk realized what they were doing. Dodged. It punctured his lung, maybe a pulmonary artery. They made me chase him. Track him to a fountain and push him under.”
A darkness moves across her face, her cheekbones casting shadows in the brightening light. “You killed him.”
I laugh out smoke. “You get it, at least. Estri—the others, they said it wasn’t me. That I was just a tool. That I needed to trust in the guild’s wisdom. That it would be okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Oena says quietly. “It’s never okay.”
The hopelessness in her voice is like a lifeline, pulling me back in. I know that’s twisted, but maybe that’s why I stay here, rescuing runaways. To pull myself together. To give me purpose. New memories, to bury the old.
I take her hand. “I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong, but you’re free now. And whatever happened back there, you can make a new life. I did. They don’t control who you are. That’s your choice.”
She just nods, but I can tell my words don’t do much. That’s okay. That’s the farm’s job. I just have to get her there.
“So what are you gonna do now?” she asks, eyes still on the floor.
“Find who did it,” I say simply. It all seems so clear now, when I have to tell someone else. “And make sure they never do it again.”
Oena sucks in a breath. “Even if it’s one of the sisters? They have your blood. They’ll kill you!”
“Better that than this,” I growl, feeling the determination rise in me as I do. I’m not living like this. I decided that seventeen months ago, when I first escaped the guildhouse, and I guess I always knew they wouldn’t just let me go. So yeah, going after them might get me killed.
But better that than live in fear.